


Angels & Devils Under the Desert Sky

by writingramblr



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Anachronism Stew, Anachronistic, Angst, Bounty Hunters, Brothels, Con Artists, Country & Western, Encouraged Voyeurism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Height Differences, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Minor Violence, Resolved Sexual Tension, Revenge, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of a fake Cowboy, an escaped Silver Miner, and a not so good Angel.</p><p> </p><p>Illya Kuryakin is out for revenge, and Napoleon Solo is just trying to make a living doing, whatever. </p><p>Gaby Teller gets dragged into the mix when two men bungle into her get out of jail (or brothel) scheme.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>AKA the Wild West AU you didn't know you wanted.</p><p>[with very serious OT3 vibes]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> everything about Rhome texas i've absolutely pulled out of my ass and only used bc rome was the main setting in the movie and i'm trying to be clever. the silver mines were inspired from 'The Lone Ranger' which was the main cause of this. Armie Hammer smudged with dirt and in cowboy attire does things for me ok? i mean they're all gorgeous lbr.

Napoleon Solo settled comfortably into the leather armchair behind his new desk, and surveyed the room with mild disinterest.

The weather outside was frightfully humid and his dark hair was already sticking to his forehead with sweat, though he’d hardly been exerting himself.

He’d taken the job and had been surprised at how easy it all was.

Rhome wasn’t exactly overflowing with criminals, unless one considered the prices that the local brothel charged to be a little ridiculous. It was certainly a change of pace from southern Nevada.

But it wouldn’t matter for long, because Sheriff Solo had a few tricks up his sleeve, as well as a wad of hundred dollar certificates.

He flipped through the notebook and scanned the dates and latest acquisitions.

A cool million wasn’t very far off if he played things right.

He grinned to himself.

Good thing he’d become the sheriff when he had, or he might have been put under arrest for the sheer amount of crimes he was preparing to commit.

With a swift rap of his knuckles on the desk for luck, he reached into his newly installed liquor cabinet and poured himself a whiskey.

Never too early for a drink when one was their own boss.

The liquid that natives liked to call fire water did indeed burn all the way down, but whereas in some men it made fools, for Napoleon it only brought clarity.

*

Gaby rolled her eyes behind her clients back, and tried to force herself to remain in character. The moaning and grunting in what should have been pleasure was coming easier and easier for her, but it still took a remarkable amount of acting on her part, especially when the client needed a shower first, but insisted on some relaxing instead.

Relaxing was always code for sex, never a massage.

It was a shame Madame Victoria wouldn’t allow the additional of a massage parlor for certain members of the clientele.

Her newly cut bangs were beginning to fall into her eyes, as well as stick to her skin, for although she wasn’t really exercising herself much, the client was very enthusiastic.

When they finally pulled back to look down at her, she bit her lip and made it seem as if she was holding back another cry.

They weren’t allowed to kiss her, that was one of the main rules for her company and time, and the real reason she was so desired.

Men always wanted what they couldn’t have.

Though there was no clock in the room, it was very tempting to make a mental note to ask Madame for one when she next went into town.

By the time she’d said goodbye and goodnight to the client, Gaby was thoroughly annoyed with both herself and Madame Victoria.

“She dies within the fortnight.”

It was somewhat of a pipe dream, for the Madame was not just a skilled businesswoman in the brothel, but also the heiress to a massive silver empire, and a lesser known cattle rustling dynasty.

She continued to mutter under her breath, reaching into her bedside chest to pull out her weapons and begin the only therapeutic routine she had. Cleaning and taking apart her guns.

They weren’t very complicated pieces of machinery, but they were deadly objects in her hands.

For Gaby wasn’t just an object of pleasure for the men of Rhome, but also known as the Chop Shop Assassin.

She’d killed and brought in nearly a dozen outlaws, and never made the papers. She’d gotten the rewards, and been saving them, preparing for her chance to leave _Heaven_.

She stayed for the moment because she needed to make sure she wasn’t followed by anyone, or hunted by her Madame’s security force when she did decide to leave.

It was hard enough keeping a low profile, and now that there was a new sheriff, a new deal would need to be struck.

She sighed heavily and glanced outside her window at the rising sun.

Free time was becoming a more precious commodity.

*

The sun was almost up, and Illya Kuryakin hadn’t quite reached the outskirts of Rhome.

He’d been traveling on the run for nearly twenty miles, and though escaping the mines in the mountain had been easier than he’d imagined, his feet were probably in danger of falling off if he didn’t find somewhere to stop and rest.

Wearing black had been the best choice for escaping in the dead of night, but now with the approaching dawn, he was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

He licked his lips, and tasted dust.

He’d been ignoring the burning ache in his abdomen for the last few hours, but now thirst and hunger were both a viable threat.

Somehow he needed to find food and shelter.

He frowned.

That wouldn’t be the easiest thing to do.

He walked past the main square and tried to keep from limping. It would make him stand out and if his clothing didn’t already scream outsider, then his minimal understanding of the common tongue would.

Speaking of tongues, his felt as if it was covered in sandpaper.

Dry as the dirt he walked.

A sign in the window of the Sheriff’s office caught his eye.

‘Deputy Wanted. Apply within.’ It read.

He smiled grimly.

That could be his saving grace.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud steady knock woke Napoleon out of a whiskey induced nap, and he started as he saw a tall dark figure standing outside the building.

He got to his feet and made his way to the front, his hand rising to the pistol on his hip, just in case, as he opened the door.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

He hoped he sounded polite, for the looming giant that stared down at him looked anything but friendly, and he wasn’t in the best position to be defending himself, still half drunk as he was.

The gleaming gold of his badge was almost the same color as the man before him’s hair.

Bright blue eyes that looked like wells of sadness bored right through him. ‘Where had that poetry come from?’ Napoleon wondered, as the man continued to stare silently.

“Your sign.”

He finally spoke.

Napoleon squinted at the morning sun, which seemed to drive a dagger through his forehead, and he winced, his hand lifting from his side to brace his temples, and keep his very head from exploding,

“Yes. That. You want to apply?”

For some reason Napoleon was actually attracted to the idea of the giant wanting to work for him and by extension, be on his side, so he backed away, towards the sink in the backroom, and hoped the man would understand to follow him inside.

“Yes.”

The stranger answered and Napoleon would have smirked if he wasn’t still slightly afraid and intimidated by the man.

“You’re a man of few words…I like that. Tell me, what’s your name?”

After obtaining a cool cloth soaked through, Napoleon pressed it to his aching temples and turned to face the giant who lingered in the front hall, with the desk and side table where breakfast should be, would sit, still between them.

He watched as the man moved, and he realized something.

He had always been a keen observer, and the skill had helped him avoid arrest and death and even gotten him his current job.

Now it told him that the man was not just weary, but on the verge of collapse.

“Please, have a seat.”

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and although it meant the giant would get closer to him, he also saw the flicker of need in the blue eyes just a second before he blinked.

“Thank you.”

He had a strange accent, and Napoleon couldn’t quite place it. European if he had to guess. Possibly north eastern.

He still hadn’t given his name yet.

Napoleon frowned.

“I do need to know your name. And if you have any qualifications. Past references. Past experience. Anything that would help you in this particular job?”

The man sat down finally, and the walls seemed to shake.

Napoleon put the cloth down and took a step back, laughing nervously to cover the movement.

Luckily the man was too tired to notice, or care, it seemed.

“My name is Illya.”

Not an English sort of name.

If Napoleon was correct in thinking, it had a Hebrew origin. So he was definitely a foreigner.

But instead of remarking on that, he simply smiled.

“Wonderful. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sheriff Solo. But when I’m off duty, like now, you can call me Napoleon.”

The man, Illya, nodded and then looked wearily at the bottle of whiskey in the corner of the room.

“Would you like a drink?”

Napoleon was quick to ask, but Illya shook his head,

“Water.”

“Ah, yes of course. You’re brand new in town, don’t have anywhere to stay, I’d wager. I know everyone, and you’re not related to anyone, so don’t bother arguing. I have a room upstairs where I sleep, but there’s a spare loft above the saloon, I know the manager. I’ll see if I can get you a couple nights there. You can pay me back later.”

He held his breath and watched Illya’s face.

The man nodded.

Despite his short replies and clearly intimidating nature, the man understood English perfectly well it seemed.

“Very well. You’ve got the job. You can start tomorrow. Go on over and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Illya frowned, and Napoleon gulped.

“Are you sure?”

Standing again, the blond was a good head taller, and Napoleon decided he’d have another drink once he left.

“Yes of course. I’ll call over there now, and you’ll be all set.”

Illya continued frowning, but he nodded and turned to leave.

The phone was rudimentary at best, and unreliable at worst, but it was easier than crossing town to speak with Waverly.

*

Illya managed to reach the Saloon and climb the steps to his temporary room, after a greeting nod from the man behind the bar, and only collapsed on the bed once the door shut securely behind him.

The fact that he could no longer feel his feet was probably a bad sign, but he didn’t care.

Somehow he’d done it.

The dark haired man who was the Sheriff had talked an awful lot, and very fast at times, but he’d gotten most of it. There was something off about him, and Illya suspected that though he claimed to know everyone in town and pretended to be confident in his abilities, the way he’d retreated from him and his body language spoke volumes otherwise.

He was not the type of man who looked as if he wanted to be sheriff.

Illya believed it to only be a stepping stone for the man.

Something else was at play.

He slept.

Probably a good ten hours later when he woke, he could hear music, and loud voices.

The saloon was in full swing.

But in the air he could also smell perfume and a distinct scent of a sharper odor. Lilacs.

He frowned, and sat up straight in the bed, his heartbeat suddenly racing overtime.

Lilacs in the desert?

It had followed him.

He got to his feet and moved to the window, carefully peering out at the street below.

Just a block away he could spot the glowing sign that read ‘Taste of Heaven.’

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what sort of business that was.

It explained the perfume.

But the lilacs…

He only knew one woman who used that flower as her chosen scent.

Her face haunted his dreams.

Blue eyes lined with black like night and harsh pink lips that cursed people to their deaths.

He shook himself.

It couldn’t be.

Just a coincidence.

But to be sure, he would need to pay a visit to that place.

Perhaps he could call it official sheriff business.

He glowered at the street and the various fools who lurched inside the building.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got to the sexy part rather quick didn't we?  
> well that's what happens when there's tons of UST on screen and NO FOLLOW THROUGH. curse you guy richie.  
> but also thank you for these amazing characters.

Gaby tapped a nail on the windowsill absentmindedly.

She was being gifted with a special client that night. One who was so called ‘high interest’ to Madame Victoria.

She rolled her eyes.

It could only be one man.

The same man who’d worked his way through the ranks of the angels until there was no one left who’d not had their heart broken but her.

Sheriff Solo.

She shook her head.

The girls whispered about him with such reverence she supposed he _would_ think of himself like god.

She’d never seen him when out and about, but then again she tended to work more in the wee hours of the night, whether seducing or slaying or retrieving.

Before he’d become sheriff, she’d been responsible for controlling the crime rate in the town almost single handedly.

It was truthfully a good thing he was finally coming to see her.

Saved her the trouble of having to pay him a visit.

Plus he’d get a good time out of it.

If she was in the right mood.

She glowered at the carpet, hating the color red all of a sudden.

It looked too similar to blood.

Who could possibly make love to a man upon a blood colored floor?

Not that she didn’t usually make use of the bed.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts.

Without a clock she had no true idea of how time had passed since she’d sat down to begin day dreaming.

“Anyone home?”

Gaby leapt to the door and pulled it open to reveal the man himself, Sheriff Solo.

He stood grinning at her, hands in his pockets, wearing what had to be his nicest suit, possibly Sunday best, and she slouched against the door frame, giving him her best alluring smile.

“Good evening Sheriff.”

Her voice was a practiced husky sigh, and she noticed how his eyes dropped to her body and took the scenic route back to her face.

“Please, call me Napoleon.”

Gaby shrugged a delicate shoulder and jerked her head back to her room,

“Come on in then, Napoleon.”

He moved swiftly, like a snake about to strike, but she wasn’t afraid or even a little worried.

He was there for her skills and her company, and she’d provide it, but he wouldn’t be leaving alive if he refused to listen to her.

After closing the door behind him, he moved over to her liquor cabinet and at her nod, poured himself a glass of whiskey.

She should have known he was that sort of man.

Would never admit his nerves, because he would have a drink first, and seduce later.

She almost liked him for that.

“So tell me what you like. I’m yours for the night. We can do whatever you wish.”

Pretty blue eyes that sparkled a little too much for her liking looked over at her, where she perched demurely on her bed, and he shrugged.

“I’m not really sure. I was just told you were the only girl for me, since I’ve already met all your friends. But I’ll tell you, you do cost a pretty penny.”

Gaby sighed before she could catch herself.

“Yes, that is true.”

Napoleon lifted his glass to her, then drank the small amount of amber liquid down, before speaking again,

“Is it because you perform more than acts of the carnal sort? Have you another skill set?”

Gaby felt her blood run cold for an instant, before regaining control of her face.

Instead, she changed tactics.

She hummed to herself, and stood up, shedding her wrap and revealing herself to him, before stalking him like the prey he was.

His eyes widened predictably and she saw him swallow.

“Like what you see?”

She asked, and he nodded.

“Absolutely.”

She plucked the glass from his hand before he could refill it and try to delay any longer.

Her hands drifted across his shoulders and she felt the tension in his muscles, and down his back to just before the top of his pants.

He looked down at her with heat in his gaze, and if she hadn’t remembered herself, she might have let him bend the rules.

At the last second she turned her head, so his lips met her jawline, and he sighed against her skin when she shifted her hands around to cup the front of his pants.

“I think we need to get you out of this dusty uniform…hmm?”

“Yes please.”

She’d done it so many times it was almost automatic, but when she’d finally bared the skin of the sheriff, she actually stopped to look.

He was impressively handsome, this she knew, but now, seeing him in the flesh before her, and not just relying on the stories from her fellow angels, she had to concede that yes, he was almost a god among men.

At least the men she’d known.

The clients she’d had paled in comparison to him.

Here was a man who clearly took pride in his appearance.

Her only question was why, and why couldn’t more be like him?

His hands were beginning to roam and she pulled herself out of her own head and began to work her magic.

Before she knew it he was completely at her mercy, begging and pleading just to come from her touch of the hand and a simple kiss that she could provide.

He was utterly beautiful.

His dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat and the muscles of his chest rippled with exertion.

She liked the fact that he was letting her lead, and even if it was just because he was paying her for it.

She didn’t care.

Tonight she wouldn’t have to fake her enjoyment.

But when she moved into position above him, prepared to ride him once his arousal returned, she was surprised at his refusal.

“You’re next.”

He gently flipped her onto her back, a smooth move that actually took her breath away and then he was kissing down her stomach, hands on her thighs, spreading her before him.

Gaby blinked in astonishment and was about to ask him what the hell he was doing when his lips made contact with her sex.

Never in all her years had a client done that.

She knew all about it of course.

She wasn’t stupid.

She went to her knees for men all the time, so why couldn’t they do the same?

They should.

Maybe they did for their wives.

Or not.

But oh.

Gaby couldn’t really think straight, couldn’t concentrate on the plan, on the…oh!

She gasped aloud and white light overtook her vision.

When her senses returned to her, she could look down and she saw him grinning up at her, his chin shimmering in the dim candlelight.

“What.”

She only managed one word.

He wiped his mouth obscenely on the back of his hand, and shrugged,

“I figured I better show you what you’d probably heard about me. Had to prove the stories true.”

Gaby opened her mouth to argue that most of the stories she’d heard had been about his prowess with his cock, not his mouth, but she decided against that.

“Well you certainly live up to the legend.”

Napoleon chuckled, and Gaby was gripping the sheets by the fistful to keep from allowing herself to admit how much she liked that sound.

“Oh my… a legend eh? I certainly hope I continue to meet your expectations.”

His hands slipped under her thighs and he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, taking her breath again as he reached down to stroke himself before thrusting inside her.

She was still so wet and relaxed she barely noticed it, until he was fully seated, and she groaned at the fit.

He was more than gifted and in more than just his skill.

To her shock and awe, he managed to make her come again, and he held off just long enough to allow her to relish it, before he found his release.

When he’d stopped and pulled out, collapsing beside her in the bed, she gulped.

That hadn’t gone as usual.

Nothing was going according to plan.

She blinked stupidly up at the ceiling and tried to remember the questions she needed to ask, but before she could so much as thank him for his company, she heard a soft snore.

Gaby leaned over him and realized he had fallen asleep.

She’d fucked him well.

She traced a hand over his bare chest, and then pulled the sheet up over his waist so she wouldn’t be tempted to ogle him too much while he was practically unconscious.

She could wait.


	4. Chapter 4

Napoleon was spent.

Worn out.

Pleasantly exhausted.

The prized angel Gabrielle was definitely worth her weight in gold.

He’d been quite amused to find that she’d heard things about him as well. It made for a very amusing evening.

But a far more enjoyable one than just with any other angel.

One drink and he’d been perfectly content to be seduced.

Usually it took half a bottle until he didn’t feel guilty.

It would be the end of his reputation if anyone knew that he was usually terrified of women unless he was a little drunk.

Sleeping, or, resting, in the bed of Gabrielle’s was probably the most relaxed he’d ever felt in weeks. Sure he’d been settled in Rhome for almost a year, but half of that was waiting for the opportune moment to seize the job he wanted.

Now he was in need of a reward.

A pre-ward.

He’d found a deputy, and one that was built like a strong fort, so he felt confident.

Soft hands, and a delicate touch woke him up.

It was a nice way to wake up.

He hummed to himself and opened his eyes to find her watching him with a less than happy expression.

“Uh-oh. Did my payment not come through?”

Trying for brevity.

Her expression remained unchanged.

He almost laughed when he realized who she reminded him of.

“I need to speak to you of an urgent matter.”

Napoleon sat up slowly, in case she was of the mind that he was somehow a threat, and he nodded.

“Continue.”

He noticed she was fully dressed, in a rather fetching outfit if he had to say.

A dark navy shirt and black pants with a brown scarf tied around her neck. He’d not seen a woman wearing pants in…well, ever.

She looked dressed for a fight if he had to guess.

“I need to know if you can help me with my work.”

Napoleon licked his lips and glanced around her room before meeting her intense dark gaze. Wearing the colors she did made her brown eyes look much darker they were.

“Are you offering me a job here?”

Gaby might have rolled her eyes at him, but then the side of his face exploded in pain and he couldn’t be sure.

She’d slapped him.

“I’m asking you a serious question Sheriff. If you know anything about the man who worked before you, then you will answer me.”

Napoleon cradled his burning cheek in his hand and looked over at her, shaking his head slowly,

“I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Despite her small stature, while he remained lounging in her bed, and she got to her feet, she actually towered over him and looked rather menacing.

“I need to know you won’t get in the way of my bounty hunting. Am I clear?”

The pistol she pulled out of nowhere and shoved in his face made things very clear, Napoleon thought.

“I give you my word.”

She seemed to visibly relax, just a bit, and the gun wavered.

“All right.”

She’d been expecting more of a fight, he guessed.

“Are you going to kick me out now?”

He couldn’t resist.

Considering the fact that she was rapidly climbing the list to the top of the very best sex he’d ever had, he severely hoped she would answer in the negative.

She slouched away from him, and placed her weapon somewhere out of sight before returning to his side,

“I don’t know. I suppose you did pay for the full night, and the sun hasn’t come up yet…”

Napoleon slipped out from under the sheets and snagged one of her arms, wary that she could hit him if she wanted him to stop, but she let him.

“Now we’ve reversed our roles and I’m trying to seduce you…isn’t that right?”

She smirked up at him,

“And I’m fully dressed while you’re naked.”

He grinned.

“You like what you see?”

Gabrielle nodded, and her hands became anything but idle.

*

Illya woke at the crack of dawn, and he wasn’t sure, but he figured that it couldn’t hurt to head over early.

He stopped to eat a bite, and choke down a cup of bitter coffee in the bar, while under the watchful eye of the man behind the bar, who introduced himself as Waverly.

Instead of knocking at the Sheriff’s office, he simply went inside.

It was quite empty.

He tried not to feel annoyed, but he failed.

Instead, he decided to look around. Some might call it snooping, but he didn’t care. It was his new place of employment, and as such, he had the right.

Drawers squeaked and squealed as he yanked them open and investigated the contents.

There was barely anything of interest, except a second and third bottle of whiskey, unopened, but the same brand of the half empty one behind the Sheriff’s desk.

Illya sniffed in mild amusement.

The man clearly had brand loyalty.

He didn’t jump when he heard footsteps on the porch, but he did move a respectable distance from the Sheriff’s desk.

“Good morning Illya, how did you sleep?”

The dulcet tones of the man who was to be his new boss filled the air, and Illya turned to find him looking rather worse for wear.

But with an aura of satisfaction.

“Better than you I think.”

Napoleon actually laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender,

“You caught me. I spent a most incredible night with the prized flower in the house of sin down the road. I’m sure you’ve seen it. But a man like you I imagine would need to warm up to the idea of paying for sex.”

Illya’s hands balled to fists at his sides,

“What?”

Napoleon kept one hand lifted,

“I meant no insult. It’s just sometimes foreigners find our western houses of pleasure to be distasteful. But I can assure you it’s worth it. Then again, perhaps I simply got lucky.”

He grinned, and then stepped over to his desk, predictably pouring himself a finger of whiskey.

Illya gritted his teeth,

“I thought I was to work today.”

Napoleon nodded,

“Yes yes of course, I’m sorry to be clogging the morning with such gossip. To work! Would you like a drink?”

Illya shook his head, choosing silence over the intense desire to punch his new boss.

That might land him in the very jail he was to be guarding and working around.

“Well I think today is going to be a very short one. How’s that for a break? I’m sure you’d like a chance to explore the town anyway, not be stuck inside with me all day.”

Napoleon winked at him, and he relaxed his hands slightly.

The man was infuriating, but somehow intriguing all at once.

Illya had little choice but to stick it out and make it work with him, at least until he could discover a way to do something about the Vinciguerra thorn in his side.

“Indeed.”

“Great. So here’s the thing, I tend to work late hours, and if there’s trouble, like an outlaw spotted, people will expect me to do something about it. Now I have you with me, it should be an easier job. You could probably just look at them and they’ll surrender.”

Napoleon grinned at him and he smiled grimly in reply.

“Perhaps.”

The dark haired man waved a hand in his general direction,

“Perhaps nothing! Look at you. You’re a powerhouse of death and destruction. I have to know, what did you do before you came to Rhome?”

Illya stiffened, and his mind’s eye filled with darkness and flashes of silver, along with the deadly escape he’d already made.

“Hard labor.”

Napoleon snapped his fingers at him, and nodded,

“Of course. I bet you dabbled in construction. Railroads, towns, whatever you could get? Excellent. So you’ll just need some weapons training and you’ll be set.”

Illya remained silent.

There was a weapon he knew how to use, besides his fists, and it was any sort of sharp blade.

The most effective way to kill a man and keep it quiet was by knife.

Illya wasn’t proud of it, but that skill had helped him in his escape like nothing else.

He continued to wear the tight smile as Napoleon began to chatter on, and after a few moments, when he’d poured another drink, Illya spoke.

“I’d like to get started…if you don’t mind.”

He edged towards the door, indicating he wanted to tour the town and Napoleon nodded at once,

“Of course, of course. Have fun! But not too much. If you don’t have any money, which I’m sure you don’t, new to town and all, just give them my name. Wherever.”

But the man winked at him again, and Illya was sure he was just expecting him to visit the brothel, or the den of sin, as his family would have referred to it.

He was, but he did not intend it to be his first stop.

“Good day Sheriff Solo.”

Napoleon waved him off with a grin.

“Farewell Deputy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TGIF amiright?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the smol and the tol meet...

There was a giant lurking around the town square.

Gaby had been watching him from the window, fascinated by the fact he’d been inside the Sheriff’s office for nearly the entire morning since Napoleon had left her room and returned to his building.

She wondered what sort of business he’d had with the sheriff.

Frowning, she stared at the man as he traveled from building to building down the block before eventually turning and heading right for her own.

Had Napoleon decided to do something stupid like hire an assassin to try and silence her?

She severely hoped not.

She was going to be prepared for anything, and that meant looking her best as well as having plenty of firepower at only an arm’s length away.

Her weapons chest was already just beside her bed, and she took up a pose that put her perfectly close, and she leaned back to wait.

It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps outside her door.

Madame Victoria was gone for the weekend, and she’d left a handful of her trusted guard behind, to protect the girls, she claimed, but Gaby knew it was more likely to keep an eye on them, and ensure no one escaped or tried to.

Gaby wasn’t sure how close Madame was getting to discovering the truth about her, but she had been harboring a niggling feeling in her gut for the last few days, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Solo.

A few seconds after the voices outside her door fell silent, there was a loud bang and her door flew open.

Gaby tried not to flinch.

She blinked demurely at the giant instead.

“Don’t you knock?”

The man was wearing a dusty brown leather jacket and black trousers. She hadn’t noticed that before while observing him from above, he’d simply resembled a dark tall dangerous looking blond blob.

His blond hair was slicked down on his forehead, and he had piercing blue eyes, remarkably similar to the Sheriff’s if she was honest in her observations, but this man was a good head taller and his fists were clenched at his sides, it seemed he needed no other weapons.

"You're not her..."

Gaby cocked a brow and tilted her head, letting her brown ponytail fall over her shoulder,

"Not who?"

The giant’s mouth formed a grim line, and he looked away from her, down to the light carpeted floor,

"The most important..."

Gaby frowned, annoyed, and she tried to figure out where his accent placed him without asking. Blond hair, blue eyes, large bulky frame, yet a lean line overall… eastern Europe was as far as she got before the snarky reply got away from her,

"Most popular you mean…and yes I am."

"Not in charge..."

He began looking around like he was lost and she couldn’t tell if it was an act or not.

“Of course I’m not in charge. I’m the star attraction. I’m much too busy to be in charge.”

Gaby fanned herself and put on a fake pout, which snagged his attention perfectly.

So he pretended to be all business but he was the most easily distracted assassin she’d ever had the chance to meet.

While he got busy staring at her white lace lingerie, Gaby slowly and methodically got to her feet, preparing to take him if he got much closer.

“You are the star?”

He echoed her claim and relaxed his stance just slightly.

Gaby licked her lips and then shrugged,

“I am. Have you paid for a whole night then?”

She used the opportunity to slink a little closer, and his nostrils flared as he took in the movement.

“No. I am not here for that.”

Gaby finally snapped. She was done playing around.

“If Napoleon wants me dead he should have had the decency to do it himself.”

Gaby suddenly charged him, ramming her shoulder into his upper chest, driving him to the ground and pushing the wind right out of him.

The thud as they hit the ground was hard enough to rattle the windows in their frames.

To her surprise, although she seemed to have the upper hand for a moment, straddling his waist and preparing to choke the life from him, she rapidly lost control, and there were fingers with a grip like iron shackles around her wrists, halting all attacks before she could blink.

“Stop.”

That strange accent was going to be the death of her if she couldn’t figure it out.

Gaby sneered at him and shifted her body, lowering her knee to hit him right where it would hurt most.

“Never.”

She hissed into his ear.

The would be shackles released her almost at once as he moved to cover himself from further attacks.

“Please wait.”

The man could be heard pleading, just seconds before Gaby undid her weapons chest and pulled a revolver out to shove in his face.

“Why should I hesitate to kill you? You could crush me with your bare hands.”

The man looked up at her with desperation in his blue eyes, and it was like she had been the one hit in the gut. That gaze could not be faked on a giant’s face.

“I am not here to kill you. I am here for Victoria.”

Gaby’s knees wobbled and her jaw dropped.

“What?”

The man sighed so deeply that his entire body seemed to shift, and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender,

“I seek the Vinciguerra’s.”

The gun shifted in her hands.

“Why?”

“I have unfinished business with her. I might have to kill her.”

Gaby smirked down at him.

“Is that right?”

The giant nodded.

“Funny enough, I have the same plan.”

He frowned up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. It was an incredibly attractive look on him, she thought.

“You plan to bite the hand that feeds you?”

Gaby bristled, and the gun returned to a firm grip.

“I make my own way, and have for long enough. I’m surprised Solo didn’t tell you.”

The giant’s face took on a dark pink hue.

He was embarrassed.

Gaby couldn’t understand why.

He’s lying on the floor in the middle of a high class establishment for one purpose and one alone.

“Of course you know him.”

Gaby shrugged.

“He was here all night.”

The blond giant slowly got to his feet, and Gaby retreated, watching him move to stand, her eyes drawn to his hands once again as they brushed off the front of his clothing. The way he treated it was as if it was all he owned in the world.

“If you were my woman, I would not have you living in such conditions.”

The man’s nose wrinkled as he looked around her room, and she felt herself grow annoyed again.

“If I was yours I would not sit idly by and do nothing to improve myself.” She replied.

He smiled down at her, for now at his full height again with her standing before him instead of lounging upon her bed, he towered over her.

“It is good you and I share plan. You are strong, and I admire that.”

Gaby put a hand to her hip, and cocked it before flipping her hair back over her shoulder,

“Not just strong am I?”

She knew perfectly well she was hunting for a compliment.

Though the pretty blue eyes stared at her easily up and down, the giant remained silent.

Gaby stepped towards him, and gave him a seductive glance, with her lashes lowered and her voice deepened a touch,

“Tell me stranger, would you like a drink?”

She watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed before speaking,

“No thank you. I must be going.”

Gaby shrugged, and then turned away from him to walk over to her liquor cabinet,

“Suit yourself. But I warn you, say nothing of what we have spoken about to the Sheriff.”

The man remained silent, so she turned to look at him, one eyebrow cocked, and he nodded.

“It will be our little secret.”

Of course, another for the many hundred already swirling about her life.

Gaby smirked before turning back to her rum, downing a large sip before refilling the glass,

“Yes. Will your name be a secret as well?”

The man coughed to clear his throat, or from nerves,

“No. Forgive me. I am Illya Kuryakin, I am working as the Sheriff’s new deputy.”

Gaby choked on her second mouthful of rum, and the burn made its way down her throat, as she began to cough.

Before she could reach for the pitcher of water at her side, she felt a set of warm large hands on her skin, one gently patting at the small of her back, the other holding her shoulder.

It was him.

She waved a hand about, gesturing for him to stop,

“I’m fine.”

She managed to croak out.

“Are you sure?”

Illya’s voice rumbled right beside her ear, and she suddenly wondered if her room had shrunk, or it was merely the close presence of the giant behind her.

Goosebumps rose on her skin as his hand traced a slow path around her waist from her back, and the other slid down her arm, pulling her flush to his front, and she felt his lips graze her earlobe,

“You’re trembling. Are you cold?”

Gaby tried to remember to breath, in, out, in again, and she nodded.

“Yes… I mean no. Yes, I’m fine, no, I’m not cold. I’m just… tired.”

She managed to turn around, forcing his arm to move from her stomach across her back, and she was staring right at the space where his neck met his shoulder.

She swallowed, and looked up to find the most intense gaze upon her own eyes.

The man was not taking the chance to ogle her body; he was simply making sure she _really_ was all right.

He was far more dangerous than she had ever imagined.


	6. Chapter 6

Illya had not been expecting to walk into the den of a lioness. But that was what he had found when he’d been directed to the most important girl’s room.

Apparently his idea of most important and the guards down below floors were completely different. He was not in the establishment for the usual purpose of business.

They directed him to the room he thought he needed, and he kicked down the door, clearly startling a pretty and petite brunette.

From his memories and knowledge of Victoria Vinciguerra it was safe to say that he was in the wrong place.

But instead of apologizing and leaving, he did something incredibly stupid.

He stayed.

The girl was the star she said, and that meant she was the very same one the Sheriff had been talking about. That was more reason to leave. But he didn’t.

She actually got him to talking.

Then they sparred.

Well, she tried to deck him but she didn’t quite have it.

Then she turned on the charm.

He was no fool. He could see the instant her body shifted from ‘fight’ to ‘prey’ and he was not the pursuer. He was the captured.

Not a lion’s den only, now it was a spider’s web.

She offered a drink.

Then asked his name.

He could deny her nothing.

She was nearly a foot shorter than him but she was somehow in more control than she knew.

Except…

As he looked down at her, drinking in the sight of all her golden bared skin as quickly and easily as she’d downed a glass and a half of rum, and he realized something.

She was not scared of him.

Fear was not making her breath unsteady and her hands tremble.

“Shall I take you to bed?”

He did his best imitation of a flirting comment, and watched as her eyes darkened.

They were already a shade of brown that could be best compared to the buttery softness of his leather jacket, but as her irises expanded, so they drew him in.

He would happily drown in them if she wanted.

“Yes.”

She moved out of his grasp only long enough to down her drink before she was leaping at him.

Not to attack, but to be caught.

It was a simple matter to sweep her into his arms, but once she was there, now he was in trouble.

She was level with his face, and as such could probably see the horribly sad way he was staring at her mouth, and watching her chest heave.

Her gaze was still heated, but could be said to be approaching one of a more tender nature, as her lips begged him without words, so he complied.

He didn’t really know what he was doing as he leaned in to close the distance between them, the arm caught under her legs pulling her tighter and the one under her back tilting her up, so that her soft lips met his perfectly.

His feet shuffled slightly and he thought he was moving towards her bed, but he couldn’t be sure.

She’d gasped into his mouth, momentarily surprised, but quickly taken the lead in the kiss from him.

He tasted the sharp heat of the rum on her tongue and something else entirely that was a hint of citrus.

When he felt the edge of the bed at his knees, he leaned down to gently place her atop the covers, and her arms which had wound around his neck for support, held him still.

“Wait…”

She broke the kiss to speak.

His eyebrows raised and he looked down at her, hoping he didn’t look as completely bewildered as he felt.

“Yes?”

She smiled dreamily up at him,

“You didn’t come in as a paying customer...”

Illya tilted his head,

“That is correct.”

“You kissed me.”

Illya was confused,

“Is that a problem?”

She nodded slowly,

“I _never_ kiss any of my clients.”

Illya’s jaw tightened,

“I am not a client.”

She seemed to think about it, before shrugging,

“Okay. So I can tell you what to call me.”

“You are right. I never got your name…So all I _can_ call you is _мой_ _маленький_ _ангел_ _._ ”

She wrinkled her nose, and nodded in approval, understanding at least the ‘angel’ part,

“That’s much better than ‘your woman.’”

She brought her hands away from clutching his shoulders to make gestures in the air.

He stepped away as slowly as he could, but one of her hands reached out to snag the closest one of his.

“Wait.”

“Yes little angel?”

He decided at the last second to drop the possessive, for as far as he knew, she belonged to no one, and everyone.

“You can call me Gaby.”

Illya grinned, and tried to retreat again,

“Goodnight Gaby, sleep now.”

Her hand finally dropped his, and she nestled into her covers, the rum having clearly run its course throughout her senses, and made her more than drowsy.

Her hum in reply was the last thing he heard before leaving her room.

Newly armed with the information that he was not alone in his mission for revenge, or as he liked to think of it, justice, and the fact was he could not possibly ever escape that horrid family until they were no longer walking the earth, he returned to his room above the saloon and tried to forget just how well the prized angel had fit in his arms.

He really had no time or business to be getting involved with a woman like her.

No matter how well she kissed and no matter the fact she didn’t kiss anyone ever except him it seemed.

*

Napoleon came around slowly, and he felt the empty bottle in his hand before he saw it.

The crash as it hit the ground woke him up all the way and he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rapidly growing stubble scrape his fingers.

He would need to make a trip to the barber pretty soon, lest he be mistaken for a lumberjack who’d stumbled into town and killed the Sheriff to take his place.

He grinned at his own scenario.

That was a good plan for when he hit the next town after Rhome.

Judging by the sun’s height in the sky, it was nearing a late hour for breakfast, but he didn’t care. Right then, he needed coffee more than anything else in the world.

It was rather nice that he hadn’t been brought around by Illya’s angry punches or kicks that morning. A week before, Illya had stormed in bright and way too early, talking nonsense in his native tongue about something to do with the brothel. He only knew that much because Illya had said Heaven in definite English.

Napoleon had just sat quietly and smiled politely, waited for him to finish, let him apologize, and then he asked if there was anything he could do, as Sheriff.

Illya had glowered at him, for reasons unknown, and then shook his head, before storming off.

All in all it had been one of the more adventurous mornings at work, and the next day, Illya had acted as if nothing had happened, and Napoleon was left wondering how he’d gone wrong.

As he was preparing to cross the street for the saloon, where he knew Waverly would be brewing a fresh pot of the bitter drink, he heard the thunder of approaching horses.

An unusual gathering of riders were at the edge of town and despite himself, Napoleon reached for his pistol, assuring he was protected, and he straightened his badge with his other hand.

They came into focus, and he recognized the leader as Madame Victoria, the resident owner of Heaven. The scent of lilacs filled the air, heavier than even the humidity and Napoleon fought the urge to sneeze.

“Good day Madame.”

She pulled her horse to a stop and stared down at him with what he could only classify as a look of mild interest, like a bug one had found on the bottom of a cowboy boot. He hoped the partial beard wasn’t that off putting.

“Sheriff Solo, I’ve heard much about you, but I must apologize we’ve never met.”

Napoleon shrugged, fighting the urge to rub the back of his neck where he could feel the hairs standing up. What was it about this woman and the rough looking men who surrounded her that was giving him such a rotten feeling?

Oh, maybe it was the fact that they looked utterly deadly and he was missing his intimidating deputy.

“Now that is a tragedy.”

Her smile could probably have frozen the nearest lake.

“One that I believe must be remedied immediately. Join me for dinner tonight.”

Napoleon knew an order when he heard one. He was almost grateful for the fact that he’d decided to polish off the whiskey before turning in. Without it, he would have likely been more of a nervous wreck before her.

If he refused he wasn’t sure what was likely to happen to him.

He didn’t fancy the idea of having to beg Illya to follow him around and watch his back, so he smiled pleasantly, ever the charmer, and nodded,

“I’d be delighted Madame.”

Her painted lips curved into the illusion of a smile,

“Please, call me Victoria. None of this formality.”

Napoleon bowed slightly,

“Then I insist on you calling me Napoleon.”

The words nearly got stuck in his throat. Despite what he’d told Illya to help him feel better, he had only ever been addressed as such by his mother. He preferred Mister Solo, or when working, Sheriff.

Or whatever his title of the year happened to be.

“Until tonight Napoleon. Good day.”

Victoria and her posse took off, a cloud of dust rising in their wake and making Napoleon cough slightly. Having regained complete use of his sense of smell, he sneezed freely.

Plans of packing up and preparing to flee town that late night began running throughout his mind, and try as he might, he just couldn’t find a really good reason not to.

His business had slowed down almost to a crawl, once he’d peaked at a million in trades and he was absolutely certain he was now going to be monitored by a choice number of dangerous looking grunts if he wasn’t mistaken.

Though being Sheriff was one of his shortest gigs, he had done worse. He’d been mayor of a town for over three days before being run out of the town after accidentally flirting with the wife of the opposing candidate.

Well, flirting that had led to a bit of more intense banter of the physical sort.

Napoleon grinned as the memories flew past, overshadowing the real trouble he might be in.

But there was a very good reason he only traveled with one suitcase, and it seemed that was about to pay off again.

The prized angel of Heaven came to mind for a moment and he wondered if she might be persuaded to help him.

She’d asked for his silence, and he’d given it, freely.

He wondered if that hadn’t been a mistake.

She owed him at least a conversation, if not a favor.

If she was telling the truth, and he had no reason to doubt her, she was much more deadly than she looked, and could even eliminate his problem altogether.

Well, he wasn’t sure if just knocking off the Madame would be enough. All her goons would surely present a challenge before getting close to their mistress.

He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the once again clean air, continuing his walk towards the saloon. He needed a drink and a shave before he did any more serious planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fingers crossed that google translate doesn't make me look like a complete idiot*  
> the russian should translate to "my little angel" a fitting nickname for Gaby, in lieu of 'chop shop girl'


	7. Chapter 7

Gaby was angry.

With herself, for the slip up she’d made the other night with that deputy, the giant who’d practically broken into her room. She’d had a few drinks, or at least a big fast one, and kissed him.

Well, she’d have been up for more than that, gold or no gold, but the rum had hit her rather fast.

Besides that nonsense, it had been almost a month since she’d been given the details on a bounty to go after, and she’d missed her window of having a hunt, for Madame Victoria had been spotted riding back into town.

She had half a mind to go down and yell at her contact, but that would cause a scene she wasn’t eager to explain.

The state was crawling with outlaws, so surely there was work for her, but without her contact to provide the name and face she was utterly out of luck.

She wished she could get up the nerve to take out the Madame. Once and for all. But until there was a way to ensure she was together with the Baron she was not going to risk exposure.

The Vinciguerra family was no longer the formidable number it once was. She had heard through the grapevine that Madame Victoria’s father had fallen ill beyond repair by a doctor, and would soon be dead.

Now she only had to worry about the so called lech of a husband of the Madame, and her brutish security force.

She leaned back in her vanity chair and pressed a hand to her temples, if she could call on the assistance of both the Sheriff and his deadly deputy, there just might be a chance in hell that she could pull it off.

But she had no way of knowing she could trust them both.

Much less if they would even be interested in taking orders from her and killing off the main founders and funders of the town.

Gaby pursed her lips and glared at her reflection.

There were some days she wished she’d never gotten into the business, and wondered how things would have turned out if she had just attempted to be a bounty hunter.

Likely she would have ended up in a gutter somewhere, or worse, married off to some fool straight out of the schoolroom.

Neither option appealed to her.

*

Illya found the office empty when he stopped by, and upon asking at the saloon where his boss had last been seen, he was directed to the barber shop.

“Sheriff.”

The man in question looked over at Illya and raised his eyebrows to indicate he could continue.

“What are you doing?”

Napoleon simply rolled his eyes,

“What does it look like Deputy?”

The barber clucked his tongue at the Sheriff and he apologized before getting back into position.

Illya huffed in annoyance and watched as the Sheriff got a very close shave, so close that there was actually a slight nick on one of his cheekbones, but before the blood could mingle too much with the shaving cream, it was wiped away.

“This will sting, but it will stop the bleeding.”

The barber spoke, before swiping a white stick that resembled chalk as best Illya could guess over the Sheriff’s cut.

Napoloeon’s eyes simply widened and he appeared to breathe out swiftly through his nose, but the chalk worked just like a miracle.

Illya finally broke the silence,

“I must speak to you.”

Napoleon nodded,

“Whatever you say Deputy. Just a moment.”

Illya turned away and began to leave, missing the overlarge note that Napoleon pressed into the barber’s hand.

“Okay what seems to be the trouble?”

Illya sighed,

“I need to talk to you about the woman who runs that place.”

He jerked a thumb in the direction of the brothel, and Napoleon cocked a brow,

“Funny enough I’ve got a date with her tonight… or maybe it’s just a business meeting… I’m not sure.”

Illya felt his eyes go wide in shock before he could control them,

“What!? You can’t do that.”

Napoleon frowned, and crossed his arms,

“Why not? We could stand to have friends in the community.”

His body language was overly defensive, and Illya could see there was something the man wasn’t saying.

“The Vinciguerra’s built an empire on the back of slave laborers, and you’re going to have dinner with the heiress to that empire?”

Napoleon frowned slightly, before shrugging.

“I hate to break it to you, but most of the country was built on the back of that. It’s a nasty business, but it’s a fact.”

Illya felt his hands ball into fists, and there was a red haze beginning to slide over his vision.

The smooth baritone of Napoleon’s voice began to grow muffled and distorted, and the ground felt a bit unsteady under his feet.

There was a foreign hand on his shoulder, and his first instinct was to hit it away.

“Whoa, easy there Partner… are you okay?”

A hand waved in front of his face and it took everything in him not to grab it out of the air and crush it like a bug.

“No.”

He managed to get out from between gritted teeth, and he watched as Napoleon retreated a good distance.

He was letting his control slip, he knew that perfectly well.

But the mere fact that he’d just been waved away like a fact of life was not all right with him. However, the time was not yet right to reveal the truth of where he’d come from.

He still could not completely trust that Solo wouldn’t run and tell the Vinciguerra malevolence who and what he was.

Solo was dining with the devil and he could just go rot if he pleased.

Illya didn’t care.

Not one whit.

“Well I’ve got to go get ready. I’ll see you tomorrow, all right Deputy?”

Illya nodded tightly.

“Have a good time at your dinner.”

Napoleon looked as if he was going to say something, then he thought differently of it.

He nodded, and then gave Illya a small smile.

“Good evening Illya.”

Illya knew one thing was for certain, the Sheriff was not going to be indifferent to things much longer. If the Vinciguerra’s were anything, it was proud, and Victoria would surely tell him, brag to him, of the vast accomplishments she had with her family.

For a moment, the angel in white lace popped into his head, and he remembered with a smile that she had designs to destroy her Madame.

She would never be able to do such a thing alone.

But she needed only ask him and he would kill the woman with his bare hands.

The problem was the fallout, and her snake of a husband, and bastard of a father.

Other than that, a piece of cake.

He sighed.

There was only one thing to do, return to the office and pull apart the guns in the Sheriff’s armory and put them back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record, in my book, henry cavill with stubble is just as attractive as clean shaven henry (ala napoleon and superman)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter to celebrate my returning to the working world... good luck to us all on the day back after a holiday!

Napoleon walked up to the brothel with unsteady legs, and a surprising chill running down his spine.

He needed a drink.

Before he’d left the office, and seen the gleaming of the setting sun reflecting off of all his pistol parts, set out carefully in organized chaos on his desk, under Illya’s careful hands, he’d ensured that his bag was packed and ready to go if things went south.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, as he was eager to visit Gabrielle and possibly obtain her assistance.

Before he even had to knock, the doors opened inwardly, and he was facing one of the intimidating goons from earlier in the day.

“Sheriff Solo, Madame Vinciguerra is expecting you in the dining room. This way.”

Napoleon smiled as confidently as possible, and followed the solid wall of muscle to a beautifully lit room, with black and white furnishings and hanging white curtains.

The room looked very stark against a mostly colorful design that he knew ran throughout the rest of the brothel.

“Mister Solo… welcome.”

The woman of the hour caught his attention, wearing what seemed to be a perfectly coordinated outfit to compliment the room and her willowy and lithe appearance.

One half black and one half white was her dress, with the colors meeting behind her neck, showing a slit of her bare chest but not a hint of immodesty.

Her light blonde hair was up in a tight bun, out of her face completely, leaving her light blue eyes, lined with black to stare right into Napoleon’s soul.

“Madame, it is an honor to once again grace your establishment.”

He replied, and her mask broke momentarily to form a frown, before she laughed carelessly,

“Of course. This can hardly be your first visit… then let me say welcome back, instead.”

She extended a hand which he took to kiss gently, and he marveled at how her skin could be so cool to the touch, residing in such a warm climate.

Luck of the genetics, he supposed.

“Would you join me for a drink before dinner?”

She gestured to the impressive spread of bottles behind her, making up the bar and he shrugged,

“How can I say no? I’m sure the saloon can’t even complete with this collection.”

Inside he was breathing a sigh of relief, for he did not know how much longer his smile would have lasted without something to ‘grease the engine’ of his anxiety about being around her.

Victoria smiled at him, and it was anything but comforting,

“Indeed. Waverly wishes he knew my suppliers. But you must know all my girls have stocked their picks of drinks in their respective rooms.”

Napoleon shrugged,

“Honestly I couldn’t tell you. I’m much too distracted by their attire to pay attention to the content of their bars.”

Another laugh filled his ears that made his skin crawl, and he realized the reason he couldn’t smell their dinner cooking came in the form of more lilac perfume.

It was like a cloud that followed her around.

It smelled nice, sure, in moderation, but the way she wore it was like a weapon.

“Mister Solo it delights me to hear you are such a loyal customer. It really is a shame we haven’t met sooner. Please, sit down. Dinner will be brought out shortly.”

He gave her a small bow, and moved close to a chair, but remained standing,

“Ladies first, I insist.”

Victoria looked mildly surprised that he’d rebelled against her second order of the day, and then moved to sit.

“Such a gentleman… tell me, how did you come to my little town of Rhome?”

Napoleon took note of her tone, and the exact phrasing she’d used.

“I was originally just passing through, but then I was offered the job of Sheriff, and I couldn’t refuse.”

He grinned, and took a large sip of his whiskey, which despite the general situation, still went down as easily as silk moving across his skin.

It was perfectly chilled so that the burn was a pleasant experience.

“How incredibly fortunate for you… and us. I had no idea the Sheriff was preparing to retire, so when I heard about you… naturally I was curious.”

She raised her glass to him, and took a delicate sip.

He hadn’t even seen her pour herself anything, so he guessed she had been drinking before he arrived.

As the room filled with servants carrying dishes of food, Napoleon was struck by the sudden realization that they all were avoiding looking at him, and merely focused on the table.

Not at all like servants, more like slaves.

Another chill ran down his spine.

What if there was some truth to what Illya had said?

He’d dismissed him and then run off to dine with a woman who might be a very real threat.

“I’m curious myself. What did you mean when you said ‘your town’?”

He pasted on a mildly interested look, and took a large sip of his drink, fighting to ignore the flurry of activity continuing around him.

But within moments, the dance was done, and the room had emptied out, leaving him alone with Victoria again.

She shifted and stretched like a cat coiled to spring,

“Well Mister Solo, to tell you the truth, my family has been in the mining business for decades, you might even say generations. We own most of the surrounding land, and with the silver we constantly mine, we will soon be able to purchase the remaining acres. You can say you’ve dined with one of the heirs to the Vinciguerra Empire.”

Napoleon smiled, but it was stiff.

The name rang a bell.

A very distant bell, which echoed throughout his mind.

He’d been edged out of his most recent job after a man working for _someone with that name_ had gotten to the ancient safe before him, and made off with the valuable contents.

He’d been annoyed sure, but merely at his own lack of planning. He’d never imagined that the contents would actually be used and exploited.

Rumors had told him that a map to a long lost mine had been in the safe, and he thought he’d take it, and make a good penny off a fool looking for fool’s gold.

But it appeared it had been a useful and legitimate map after all.

That had been the reason he’d headed east in the first place. Not for gold, but for oil. There was plenty of work mining gold in the west. He was sick of the business that came from reselling and remaking gold bars and bricks.

“The family business? That must be nice work.”

He managed to say, and Victoria shrugged, taking a delicate bite of the fresh greens and steaming cut of meat in front of her.

“It is. But I can’t take all the credit. My grandfather started it all with his cattle rustling, but of course that sort of thing isn’t tolerated nowadays so naturally, we stick to just mining.”

The wink she threw him was more than obvious a mile away, much less three feet across a dining room table.

“Of course.”

Napoleon grinned right back, and took a bite of his own dinner, the meat suddenly tasting foul in his mouth.

She was a very skilled liar and almost flawless actress.

However, Napoleon could spot and discern such a thing easily, as the player could not be played.

She was certainly trying her utmost.

He was glad there wasn’t a clock in the room, he’d checked quickly when a servant had obscured her vision, lest he continue to glance at it and give away the fact he wanted to be anywhere but there.

A couple of hours passed in a seemingly slow manner, and finally Victoria stood, and moved towards him.

He leaned back in his chair, and let himself appear slightly tipsier than he actually was, to hide the fact that he’d flinched.

“Thank you for the incredibly delicious meal, and the stimulating company.”

“Would you like an escort home? Or can I offer you a room here for the night?”

Her eyes were glittering with amusement and he half wondered if she was imagining him being run over by a carriage in his drunken stupor.

“Oh no I couldn’t impose…”

He pretended to protest.

She reached out to touch his face and he fought with every ounce of strength not to flinch away again, as her hand made contact with his forehead, pushing a lock of dark hair that had escaped from his careful part,

“Don’t be ridiculous. Tell me which one is your favorite angel, and I’ll have you escorted upstairs at once.”

Napoleon smiled up at her, dreamily as if in a daze, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment,

“Well there is this one girl…”

Victoria’s smile grew deadly, and her white teeth could probably be right at home in a lion’s maw, ripping a gazelle to shreds, and covered in blood. He wondered if she was hating the fact she was technically a married woman, if the massive rock of ice on her left hand was anything to go by, despite the complete lack of her husband in the evening’s conversation.

“Yes?”

“Gabrielle I think… I’ve only met her the once. But she really sticks out in a man’s mind.”

Victoria might have rolled her eyes, but he had his own closed still so he couldn’t much be sure,

“Of course. My prized angel. She’s the one who’s stolen your affections. As well as half the town’s male population.”

The well placed dig went right in one ear and out the other.

She was jealous naturally.

Rich and beautiful she might be, but she was still wedded, and as such, unable to philander about town, well, at least with him.

Napoleon simply shrugged, and nuzzled into her touch for effect.

Victoria’s face relaxed into a mocking pout,

“Well then I suppose this is goodnight. I had a lovely evening with you Mister Solo. I hope you sleep well and come back soon to see _me_.”

She leaned in and placed a dry kiss on his lips, before looking up and away from him, snapping her fingers harshly at someone behind him.

Strong arms lifted him from his seat, and helped him attempt to walk up the stairs leading to the hall where Gabrielle’s room was.

“What?”

Napoleon heard the angel protest slightly as her door was knocked on, before he was practically dragged inside and dropped unceremoniously upon the bed he recognized as hers.

He imagined she had her hands on her hips as she watched his two escorts leave.

The door slammed shut behind them and she was at his side in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is going on?”

Napoleon sat up sharply, and brushed his hair back from his forehead, vision as clear as day, as he met her fiery gaze,

“Forgive me Gabrielle. I didn’t really want to refuse your Madame’s kind offer of hospitality. I promise I will not cause any trouble, I can even sleep on the floor if you wish.”

The short brunette didn’t even argue that point, she simply reached for him, and instead of desiring to flinch away he almost leaned into her touch. He surprised himself, and he marveled at the way she stroked his cheek, and how she studied him with something resembling concern.

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

She looked in his eyes, noting how they focused on her, and seemed to determine he hadn’t been drugged.

Meanwhile, he noticed just how under dressed she was, or rather how overdressed he was.

The thugs hadn’t reacted at all, but she was wearing only a pair of cornflower blue panties, and nothing else.

Her hair was up in a lazy ponytail, leaving the ends to curl softly over her bared shoulder, and her bangs were messily covering her forehead and hiding her eyebrows, no doubt raised.

“I uh, had dinner with your boss.”

He managed a smile at her, and ripped his gaze from her bare breasts which had snagged his attention.

“What made you think that was a good idea?”

Napoleon shrugged,

“Why do you think it’s such a bad one? I might be able to convince her of some scheme, that you’ve fallen hopelessly for me, or I for you, and get you out of here. If that’s what you wanted.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and turned away from him, crossing her arms in the meantime and hiding most of her body from his sight. Well, except her very luscious fabric covered backside and soft sweeping curve of her spine and a few good stretches of bare skin he hadn’t kissed the last time he was with her.

“As if she would buy that load of garbage. I don’t even think I’m capable of that. You might be under a false impression Sheriff, but I’m _paid_ to pretend I love men.”

Napoleon smirked,

“So that means you’re not attracted to us men folk at all?”

She whirled on him and her own ponytail nearly smacked her in the chin,

“That’s not what I said and you know it.”

Her finger was in his face, but instead of focusing on that, he gladly stared at her chest and then lazily brought his gaze back to her eyes,

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put words in your mouth. I’d much rather put it to better use.”

She leaned back and eyed him up and down with a single cocked brow,

“Is that right?”

Napoleon swallowed thickly,

“If the lady wishes.”

“I would love to see you try.”

She purred.

“Oh Gabrielle, I bet I can make you hear real angels singing before I’m done with you.”

She smirked and moved in towards him to wrap her arms around his shoulders, stopping just a scant inch from his lips,

“I’d prefer Gaby, if you don’t mind, and you’re on.”

Napoleon felt her nibble on his bottom lip before fully initiating the kiss, and he pulled her back with him to fully recline on her bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare for the lovely ot3 action you've all been waiting for...

Climbing the outside wall of the brothel building wasn’t the hardest thing Illya had had to do, but it was the most annoying.

There were no footholds, and there was a constant patrolling guard to avoid.

It was ridiculous, the effort he was going to just to communicate with Gaby. But he needed to let her know that the Sheriff, his reluctant partner, was in possible danger by being lured into Victoria’s grasp.

It was bad enough that Victoria was running her own little side business and profiting from the weak willed minds of the men in the town of Rhone, but now she was attempting to bewitch the new Sheriff.

He wondered exactly how and when that job had come to be vacated, and if the heiress had had anything to do with it.

He set his jaw, and continued climbing.

The only good things about Gaby’s room being on the top floor were the facts it was less secured than the lower floors, and it was relatively private, due to her ‘popular’ status.

As he reached the top and the window ledge of her room, he stopped, hearing noises and voices coming from inside.

To his eternal embarrassment, he recognized the sounds as Gaby’s voice distinctively gasping out words of encouragement.

He did not stop climbing though. He was fully prepared to rip off whatever fool was wasting her time and reimburse the money she would lose from him tossing the client out her window. Whenever he got his first actual paycheck from the Sheriff.

But he came to a halt when he realized it was none other than the Sheriff himself on his knees in front of Gaby’s bed, with his dark head between her bare thighs and the source of her apparent pleasure.

He swallowed and tried to think of something clever to say for when she noticed him.

As luck would have it, with the dim lighting in the room and the severe distractions to the both of them, Gaby had not even spotted him, and in fact, her eyes were closed and her hands seemed to be scrabbling for a hold on anything besides Napoleon’s hair.

Eventually she seemed to give into the desire, and one small hand weaved its way through the dark locks, as the other found a pillow to anchor to.

Napoleon did something exceptional with his smart mouth it seemed, and Gaby’s mouth fell open, though no sound came out.

Illya was beginning to grow uncomfortably warm, not to mention shamefully aroused as he watched, and he debated clearing his throat and interrupting, or simply waiting in the darkness for one of them to spot him.

He hoped Gaby wouldn’t scream.

As it turned out, she did anyway.

But not from the sight of him.

Her legs wrapped around Napoleon’s back and her back arched as she climaxed against his face, the sound of her cry echoing throughout Illya’s ears.

Surely he was bright red.

“Oh my god.”

Gaby managed to gasp, and Napoleon moved away to look at her, following her gaze with his own to find Illya standing there, like a complete and utter fool.

“Hello.”

Napoleon, to his incredible surprise didn’t look overly shocked or even angry. To the contrary, the man smirked, and then jerked his head towards Gaby,

“Care to join us?”

It was only Gaby’s answering smack upside the Sheriff’s head that broke Illya out of his shocked stupor.

“Uh… I’ve actually come to warn you.”

Napoleon glanced over to Gaby and moved just enough so that her nudity was revealed for a moment to Illya’s curious gaze, and he swore he saw her blushing despite the dim light.

“Oh? Please, come closer. Enlighten me, deputy.”

“Will you let him talk?”

Gaby chastised the Sheriff, looking to Illya, almost begging him with her eyes to pardon the dark haired man’s thoughtlessness.

Unfortunately her nakedness was still rather distracting.

It seemed that the Sheriff hadn’t yet gotten around to undressing himself, although it would appear Gaby had been on the verge of helping, for his halfway unbuttoned shirt and unzipped pants spoke volumes.

“What did Victoria tell you?”

Napoleon looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he moved to stand, leaving Gaby abandoned and alone, and still naked atop her bed.

She simply shifted around so that she was lying on her stomach, observing the two men, with her legs bent and feet swaying slightly behind her.

Illya decided she made a stunning picture like that, hiding most of her nudity but still hinting at it with such a perfect bare bottom.

“She basically confessed about her family’s criminal background and businesses.”

Illya felt himself relax slightly for the first time in days,

“Wonderful! So you can have her arrested?”

Gaby looked to be biting her lip, and Napoleon shook his head, frowning,

“You can’t be serious Deputy? Is that a joke? Arrest one of the Vinciguerra’s? In their town? Not possible.”

Illya’s jaw locked and his hands begin to form fists,

“Do I look to be a joke? You are the Sheriff are you not? A criminal confessed to you… so you can have her arrested.”

Before he could blink and try to clear the red from his eyes, Gaby was climbing up from the bed and moving to stand before him.

One of her small hands pressed into his chest, and surely she could feel his heartbeat racing, now for a completely different reason, as the red mist fell and was replaced by miles of golden skin, including two perfect breasts he wondered how well would fit into his hands.

“Stop.”

She looked up at him, and he was powerless to do anything but what she asked in that moment. Then she turned to face Napoleon and spoke again,

“You too. You know perfectly well what must be done. It will be outside the confines of the legal boundaries you pretend to ascribe to. Stop taunting him.”

Illya frowned at them both.

“What do you mean?”

Gaby turned her somber eyes back to him, and he realized her hand was still hovering over his heart,

“I mean that I have a plan. I’ve been planning for many months actually.”

Illya doesn’t know why, but her words and the way she’s looking at him make him lick his lips.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees that Napoleon does the same.

Gaby still stood before him naked as the day she was born and the reason for why he snuck up to her room and what he interrupted flashes through his mind, stalling the thirst for revenge, and stirring a thirst for something else entirely.

His hand moves up of its own accord to graze her bare hip and he doesn’t miss the way she jumps.

Her skin felt warm to the touch, and there’s still a sheen of sweat that was attempting to cool it.

She took a shaky breath and Illya managed a smile,

“Something you wish to say, little angel?”

Napoleon could keep his stupid smirk, for Illya only had eyes for her.

“No. But I wish for you to kiss me, if you like. I’ve never had a man scale the whole wall to come find me.”

She has locked her eyes with him and the way she bites her lip makes him want to do it for her, if she would let him.

 _If he likes_?

He will gladly kiss her a thousand times.

Even as his mind screams at him there’s no time for this and it was not why he came there, he stooped down and closed the distance between them, not seeing how she stretched up on her tiptoes to help.

He pulled her into his arms completely and it was like she never left.

Warm vanilla and honey fill his senses, and wash away any trace of the harsh lilac perfume that first alerted him to the buildings existence.

He knew nothing but Gaby’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give em a little break before things get wild and crazy...


	10. Chapter 10

Napoleon wasn’t used to being upstaged, but he couldn’t really protest too much. He enjoyed his moment with Gaby, and it appeared clear to him that part of what Victoria said was right.

She has bewitched some men in the town.

Illya was not one of the ones he would have pegged that would fall under her spell, but then again, he hadn’t planned on coming to see her that night either.

Fate had decided for him.

As he watched, Gaby’s clever small hands began to push the brown leather jacket off of Illya’s broad shoulders, and if Napoleon didn’t know better, he’d say there was definite activity in his deputy’s pants as well. Not that he was looking.

He knew the man would surely kill him with one blow, and that in and of itself was intimidating and arousing, but Napoleon had an eye for beauty, and it didn’t matter who it manifested in.

One of Gaby’s hands brushed over Illya’s crotch and he nearly jumped a foot.

Napoleon bit his tongue to keep from laughing, though of course it was not funny at all. He wouldn’t have held his composure if the first time Gaby had seduced him completely naked while he was still clothed.

In fact…

He only just remembered he was almost fully clothed, so he finished quickly what she’d started before, and continues to watch her work.

Well, it’s not exactly a hard job.

Illya could be called gorgeous, if he was being objective, and honest.

If he’s not, then the man was simply a tall hulking brute of a man with a pretty face.

The man’s hands alone would probably be able to crush a smaller man’s skull.

Like Napoleon.

It’s for that reason alone he remains silent, and retreats to the bed and sliding under the covers, content to watch and observe while Gaby completely stripped the other man of his makeshift armor.

The kiss broke with a lewd smack, and Gaby looked around the room slightly dazed not to find Napoleon in the same spot as before.

“I’ll just wait here.”

Gaby has begun to roll her eyes, and Illya looked adorably confused.

“What?”

Gaby has turned back to him and her hand stroked his cheek, pulling his attention to her,

“I would have you both in my bed… if you’ll have me.”

The look on Illya’s face made something inside Napoleon shatter.

Such tenderness could be called utterly foreign.

It doesn’t make sense.

They’ve met how many times?

It was on the tip of Napoleon’s tongue to ask, but then Gaby was climbing into the bed with him, and she’s pounced, kissing him breathless, and he doesn’t care.

Their first kiss could be called earth shaking and heart stopping.

Napoleon wonders if she would say that precisely that was why she denied her clients of it.

Illya has followed at a cautious and slow pace, but Gaby’s clearly leading the way here.

It could be argued it was because they are in her territory and area of expertise.

Napoleon’s certainly not about to protest when she takes him in hand.

He’s only been aching for her touch since he heard her scream her orgasm.

He can’t fight the urge to smile into the kiss.

To think she’d bet he couldn’t do it.

*

Gaby doesn’t really know what she’s doing. What she’s gotten herself into.

The only thing she knows can be called sensory overload.

There are hands everywhere.

Including her own.

She’s got a handful of Illya’s hair in one, and she’s lazily stroking Napoleon’s cock in the other.

Napoleon’s biting her lip, and she must have touched him just right. She bites back when she feels Illya kissing up her neck.

As an experienced sexual being she’s pretty damn sure Illya’s a virgin, but she’s not a gambling woman, so she decides to wait to prove her theory.

He doesn’t really know his way around her body, and the way he touches her, like she’s a precious fragile being, and he can’t quite decide where to land his hands speaks volumes. It’s not a bad thing, per se, but she doesn’t quite have the patience to train him in the moment.

She will be fucking Napoleon that night, and she decides to show Illya how wonderful a kiss can be besides on the lips.

She pulls away from Napoleon and turns to look over her shoulder at Illya, wanting to reassure him he’s not being left out or forgotten.

“Watch me.”

She climbed over and up to straddle Napoleon, locking eyes with Illya as she sinks down onto the good Sheriff’s cock.

Illya’s eyes widened at the boldness of her movement and he glanced down to where Gaby’s body was flushed with Napoleon’s.

Napoleon was probably smirking confidently like the smooth operator he thought he was, but she doesn’t care. Her hips twist and she started to ride him in earnest, still watching Illya.

He was touching himself, perhaps absentmindedly, but it’s participating as best he can, and Gaby loves the view.

His cock can easily fall into the top three she’s ever had.

Napoleon’s was pretty high on the list, until that night.

She’s never been in so deep literally and physically.

Now she could just narrow it to the two of them.

Where Napoleon fills her and stretches her perfectly, Illya could probably bring her to climax just by himself without any extra touches.

As it stands, Napoleon could sense she needed a little extra help, and his rough calloused thumb had already started to swirl little circles over her clit.

Gaby hates that she must, but she looks away from Illya and turns heavenward as her orgasm approaches.

She presses down on Napoleon’s shoulders and feels him pushing up into her hard as he can, driving them both over the edge.

Her grip on his bicep probably hurt him, but it was a good sort of hurt, blurring the line between pleasure and pain without drawing any blood.

She cried out and she’s not sure whose name got lost in the sound.

As she comes back to earth, she looked over to find Illya staring at her, eyes hazy and she sees that he’s gone right over the edge with them, his bare chest glistening slightly with his come.

She smiled wickedly at him as an idea strikes.

After placing a kiss on Napoleon’s cheek, she moved off of him and crawls to Illya’s side, her hand tracing his bare chest and drawing a mindless shape through the mess on his skin.

“Did you have fun?”

He nodded wordlessly, and she wondered if his orgasm short circuited his brain momentarily.

He’s certainly in for a shock, and she brought her fingers to her mouth, humming in delight.

She was pretty sure Napoleon let out a whistle of appreciation and she licked off another finger before daring to meet Illya’s gaze again.

“ _ебать_ _да_ _.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry.
> 
> illya's curse is basically "fuck yes"  
> plz correct if you know real russian, i'm going off of google translate so yeah


	11. Chapter 11

Illya can’t remember the last time he woke up in the middle of the night because he was too warm. Usually his body would automatically shed any excess covers or blankets that could be causing the overheating.

But as his eyes blinked sleepily open and he took in his surroundings, he found not one, but two bodies draped over his own.

Gaby… sweet little thing that she was, well, more like incredibly devious and an utter minx, had cuddled up to his right side, and one arm was thrown across his chest, while his _boss_ , Napoleon, he supposed had some weird sort of complex that demanded he must be touching some part of both of them, with a leg tangled with his left one, and an arm crossing over to grasp Gaby’s free hand and also brush over Illya’a ribs.

Well the fact remains that it has become too much and he can be called in danger of sweating and possibly dying from the heat.

Without jostling anyone very far, he slowly managed to slide out from under the arms and hands upon him and escaped to the balcony.

The late night, or early morning as it were, air brought a little bit of relief, and with so many stars out, it was actually a beautiful sight.

He got so lost in his star gazing that he didn’t notice Gaby making a noise of discomfort as Napoleon pulled away from her. But instead of joining Illya on the balcony, he went towards the front door, only pausing to grab his pants and shirt on the way.

“Where are you going?”

Illya hissed under his breath, and Napoleon shook his head,

“I need something cool to drink. My head’s fuzzy. I’ll be right back.”

Illya sighed.

“Well bring some ice back for us all.”

Instead of a reply Napoleon merely saluted him.

Gaby’s near constant eye rolling suddenly made sense to Illya.

*

There was a very painful throbbing in the front of Napoleon’s eyes and he couldn’t recall having drunk nearly enough whiskey to have caused such a bad hangover, and as he dared open one eye, the first thing he was a bright light, so he squeezed it right back closed.

“Oh Mister Solo, don’t play hard to get now… I know you’re perfectly up to scratch in your performance. Please, join me.”

A hand with long tapered fingers slapped him across the face, before grabbing his jaw in a harsh movement.

He would have hit back and gladly escaped the touch of a certain deadly woman, but when he tried to move his arms he found them tied down, and quite well too, double knots of rope. His ankles were also restrained, one leg tied to each chair leg in front.

He sighed.

He remembered now.

He’d been on the way down to the kitchen, to try and sneak out some ice from the massive cooler, but he’d been attacked before he even finished descending the stairs.

Illya and Gaby would not be happy when they found out he wasn’t coming back.

“Victoria… what on earth have I done to warrant this sort of inconvenience? You do remember I’m the Sheriff, so if anyone’s to be doing detainment, it’s me.”

Blue eyes lined perfectly with black looked down at him with something bordering on amusement and annoyance,

“You’ve done nothing of any sort, but if you really think you have any authority over me, you are sadly mistaken. I simply wanted your attention.”

Napoleon cocked a brow at her, and he saw the quirk of her lips to indicate her rapidly dissolving patience.

“You have my undivided attention my lady. Please, ask me what you will.”

Victoria rolled her eyes and let go of his face, no doubt leaving a set of bruises along his jaw,

“Are you or are you not in fact a smuggler and dealer of illegal artifacts?”

Napoleon blinked slowly and raised his eyebrows both equally,

“Well, at the moment I’m the Sheriff of Rhome Texas, so no?”

Victoria smiled, but it was not the sort of expression to indicate delight or even tolerance,

“If I have to repeat myself, things will get ugly.”

She waved a hand to his left, and he followed the direction with his eyes, finding a rather large table laden with gleaming silver instruments, and not the sort of objects he would be comfortable coming in contact with any bit of his person.

One of them looked remarkably similar to an ice pick, but for the triple spiked head.

“Ah.”

His mind raced with excuses, reasons to be left to his business, and he momentarily wondered if giving up Gaby would do any good.

But he couldn’t do that.

He glanced around the room and determined he was most certainly not in the brothel anymore. The room of the house in which he sat was a gorgeous Victorian style design, ironically enough, and the way Victoria walked around like she owned the place told him all he needed to know.

He was inside the Vinciguerra mansion.

He grinned easily, despite how his heart raced in mild to rapidly growing extreme fear and the noise that threatened to overwhelm his hearing that had to be the blood rushing to his head and looked directly at her,

“You got me. I’m the notorious black market dealer behind Solo Specialties.”

Victoria stalked back towards him, from where she’d been absentmindedly fingering the handles of all the tools, and he suppressed a shiver.

“Finally the man speaks some truth. What of my prized angel Gaby? What is she to you?”

Napoleon’s glib reply froze in his throat.

He had not been expecting that.

Victoria knew something was off about Gaby, but not what.

“Uh…”

Lying wasn’t an option but neither was the truth. For all he knew, Illya and Gaby still were in her room, ice forgotten, back asleep and blissfully unaware of what was happening.

Victoria’s hand tightened on a dual pronged fork, and he instantly knew what it was used for.

Cattle wrangling by way of electric current motivation.

“What was that Mister Solo?”

She held it above his thigh, and before he could formulate a reply, she’d let it drop to graze the fabric of his pants just for a heartbeat.

The fire that lit up his veins and set his teeth on edge was just a taste but it hurt like hell.

He was breathing hard like he’d run a marathon when she lifted it back up, and her lips twisted into another cruel smile.

“She’s a bounty hunter for hire. I’m not really working with her. Just agreed to stay out of her way.”

He breathed, and watched as the wheels began to turn in Victoria’s mind’s eye.

“That little bitch. I gave her everything. She’s working on the side. Of course.”

For no reason at all but her own annoyance at Gaby, she dropped the cattle prod onto his leg again, and all he knew was pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums ominously*


	12. Chapter 12

Gaby practically screamed when Illya grabbed her arm to wake her up.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She jerked her arm out of his grasp and sobered instantly at the look in his eyes.

“Napoleon hasn’t come back. I think Victoria has something to do with it. I’ve looked, and there are only a handful of guards… not nearly as many as last night. She’s left.”

Gaby looked around the room, and frowned,

“What? And are you sure he’s not just gotten distracted downstairs?”

Illya looked annoyed, and she let out a huff of a sigh,

“Okay, say you’re right. But why would she do anything to him?”

Illya shrugged,

“Perhaps she thinks he knows something of your plans. Perhaps she suspects he could be a weakness for you.”

Gaby got up and began to pace around the room. Her arms crossed as she began to think.

Why would Victoria care about her seeing the Sheriff?

Unless she was beginning to investigate the exact reason for the low crime rate of the county?

When one’s family owned most of the surrounding area and had no need for the army of security they had, no one complained. But with Napoleon’s black market schemes going on unheeded that probably looked suspicious.

“We have to get to their house. If she’s no longer in the building, she’s there.”

Gaby finally said.

Illya’s jaw was set, and he looked rather pale.

“The Vinciguerra estate?”

Gaby nodded,

“Of course. It’s on the edge of the county line, where the rumored silver mines begin. Probably a good three hour’s ride. On a horse. In a carriage, they could be there in half that. Oh god. How long was I asleep? How long has he been gone?”

Illya blinked,

“A couple hours, maybe more, maybe less. I was rather distracted myself when he left, and I think I dosed off for a moment before realizing he hadn’t come back.”

Gaby sighed,

“The Vinciguerra’s may be the most ruthless people in the state, but Victoria has been known to be particularly vicious with girls who upset her, or try to steal from her. I hate to think what she might do to Napoleon if he decides to talk back to her, or act too clever.”

Illya nodded tightly,

“I think he would have a hard time controlling that mouth of his.”

Gaby smiled for a moment,

“And I wouldn’t have him any other way. But come on. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

All she did was walk over to her closet, pull out her bounty hunting attire throw it on, and tie her hair back in a quick ponytail, before she was out the door.

God help anyone who got in her way.

*

Illya was not looking forward to going back to where he’d left behind happily, and though he could be sure it wasn’t the exact same mine he’d escaped, it was far too close for comfort.

Once he’d finished dressing and followed Gaby outside, past the few unconscious bodies she’d left in her wake, he noticed they were heading for the saloon, not the stables.

“What are we doing here?”

Gaby sighed heavily and threw him a glance of mild impatience,

“I may be able to handle some muscle, but there’s no way I’m going to mount an attack on the Vinciguerra estate alone. I have to get Waverly’s help.”

Illya frowned,

“How can he help us? He’s just a barkeep.”

Gaby smirked,

“And I’m just the most desired angel in all of Heaven. Come now Illya, don’t be so blind.”

Illya glared down at her for a moment, mildly insulted, then continued inside with her, watching as she made a beeline for the man in the black and grey vest with glasses so thick they made his eyes look enormous.

“Gaby! Delightful to see you in my establishment. You don’t seem to get out enough these days.”

The grin he gave her seemed sincere enough, but there was an edge of forced air to it.

Gaby clapped her hand on the counter,

“Waverly the time has come. I need your help.”

Instantly the man’s expression morphed into that of a concerned guardian,

“What seems to be the problem Teller?”

He glanced back to Illya for a moment, before Gaby’s wave of a hand distracted him,

“Not him. It’s the Sheriff. She’s taken him.”

A wild eyebrow rose above the thick frames and Waverly looked shocked,

“Is that right? Victoria Vinciguerra has kidnapped an officer of the law?”

Illya snorted.

Gaby nodded.

“Exactly. It’s time to act.”

Waverly rubbed his hands together and actually looked cheered,

“Wonderful news. I will make a call, and you should expect a round dozen to meet you there.”

Gaby reached out to pat the man’s arm, and she then turned to Illya,

“Come, it’s time to ride out.”

Illya watched her go in slight confusion, before hurrying to follow.

“What is going on?”

“Waverly is one of the state’s finest. He’s semi-retired, but he’s been helping me out, finding me work, and ensuring I get paid in full for the rewards.”

Illya remained silent, as they approached the stables, Gaby looked back at him, seeing his lost expression.

“Waverly is a Texas Ranger. He’s going to make sure we have backup out at the estate. A round dozen means more than 12 but less than 20 officers. I should think that would be more than enough to take them. Did you know Victoria’s father is sick? He might even be dead. That’s probably why she decided to act so rashly, and take Napoleon out of the city. She’s not thinking straight.”

Illya couldn’t say he felt anything in the way of remorse or sorrow at the news of the Vinciguerra patriarch.

The sooner the family was gone from the land of the living, the better, in his mind.

“That’s a shame.” Was all that he said instead.

“Yep, it’s a damn tragedy.” Gaby added, and threw something at him with remarkable speed.

Luckily his reflexes were quick, thanks to many months of learning to avoid the lash in the mines.

“What is it?”

She smiled,

“It’s a gun for you. In case you need to take someone out at a distance. I know you like your hands for close quarters.”

She winked, and climbed up onto her horse, pulling it sharply around to face him,

“Are you coming or what?”

Illya blinked, and focused on the beast in front of him, which eyed him warily,

“Of course.”

He stowed the gun holstered inside his jacket pocket, and mounted his own horse, quickly taking his place at her side.

“We’ve got a Sheriff to rescue.”

Gaby called to him, spurring her horse into a swift gallop, and Illya fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Rescue indeed.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Are you still with me Mister Solo?”

He was not.

Not quite.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could feel blood dripping out of his nose. When it reached his lips and he could taste it, he would know for certain.

The cattle prod was seemingly Victoria’s favorite tool.

She’d gone on about how angry she’d been when the girls had first started whispering about one of their own taking up a bit of side action, and she’d never dreamed it would be something as harsh and ruthless as bounty hunting.

Napoleon had managed to fight the urge to laugh.

Ruthless and harsh?

Not like anyone she knew.

She leaned in very close, and he didn’t have the energy to flinch back,

“I don’t want to ask you again. But I see your eyes are still open, so I’m guessing it’s a yes. I had hoped to finish you off myself, but unfortunately I’m going to have to leave you to Alexander here. He’s my darling husband and he’s not pleased that you abused my business and took advantage of my hospitality…”

She pressed a dry kiss to his cheek and he closed his eyes, unwilling to look at her any longer even if he still had to listen to her poisonous words.

Alexander whispered something to her that made her laugh, a sound as hollow as bird’s bones.

The silver tools made a high pitched sound when hit upon each other, and Napoleon shuddered to think which item Victoria’s beloved had chosen.

Before anything sharp made contact with his skin, there was a faint noise, like a muffled gunshot.

Alexander stopped, and Napoleon opened his eyes just wide enough so he could see the man retreating to the other side of the room, shining metal spike held aloft in hand.

Something was happening.

Victoria had been called away from torturing him, but why?

What could be such a threat to distract her?

Somewhere deep down inside of him, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, Illya had come to get him.

No. That was too far-fetched.

Perhaps Gaby had discovered a poster with a bounty for his head.

So she was only coming after him to collect.

It didn’t matter if he was dead or alive then.

Either way, someone was about to burst in and set him free.

It was ridiculous how much he wanted that to happen, but for some reason all he could think of was them working together to come get him, considering they were the closest things he had in the world to friends.

There was no one else who would miss Napoleon Solo if he never came back to town.

The Sheriff was easily replaceable.

*

Illya was entirely on edge for the last bit of the journey, and as soon as the estate came into view over the horizon, not even Gaby’s words of reassurance could help.

There was a growing cloud of dust in the distance, and Gaby had probably told him several times it was the Rangers and they weren’t mounting an assault alone, they would be fine.

He didn’t care.

All he could see was Victoria, and her bloody hands holding a whip, and all he could smell was the cursed scent of lilacs, and all he could hear was her words promising death if he didn’t keep digging.

For a moment, his vision turned red, and he could only feel the horse beneath him, but see nothing else through the red mist.

Gaby’s voice was urging him on, breaking through the fog of memories and the shackles of fear.

They were almost there.

For a moment, he tried to place himself in Napoleon’s shoes.

At the complete mercy of the angry and vengeful heiress.

He could not imagine.

He’d had it very bad, but he’d never been tortured by anyone.

If Gaby was correct, and he wanted to believe she wasn’t, there was a good chance Napoleon was no longer still breathing.

“We’re here!” Gaby leapt down from her horse and began taking shots at the few guards the Rangers were still too far away to see.

Illya was distracted by watching her work.

She’d attacked him quite easily and he’d stopped her with minimal effort, but here, like this, she was undefeatable.

Her small size meant she maneuvered easily, and her fast movement made her a challenge to hit.

Not that he would be allowing that to happen.

If anyone was still breathing and she turned her back on them, he snapped their necks without a thought.

No one was going to be left alive until he knew that Napoleon was safe.

Even then, perhaps only Victoria would be allowed to live. She deserved to live and endure. To stand trial and pay for her crimes.

For her families legacy of chaos and suffering.

Gaby led the way inside the estate, and Illya followed close behind, watching her back and ensuring there were no surprise attacks.

The first place they came to was the vast living room, and there was no one to be seen.

Next Gaby pointed to the stairs, and they slowly ascended.

An ornate set of double doors led to a large office room, and inside, turning in her chair to face the intruders, was Victoria herself.

She smiled like a cat that had gotten the cream.

“Well, well, well… If it isn’t my little fallen angel… Gabrielle darling, what the hell have you done?”

Gaby bristled, and her grip on the gun in her hand tightened.

Illya was careful to remain out of her sight, not wanting to startle her suddenly into doing something rash.

“Where is he? What have you done to him?”

Victoria steepled her fingers and looked past Gaby to Illya, and her perfect brows furrowed in slight bemusement.

“Who is this?”

Illya swept Gaby to the side, as gently and easily as moving a curtain away from a window, and he ignored her protest.

“I am Illya Kuryakin. I left this place of despair a month ago, and I’ve never once looked back. You brought my family over from Russia with the promise of homes and a livelihood we never thought we could have. It was all a lie, and thanks to you, I have no family now.”

Victoria looked intrigued, and she leaned forward slightly,

“Oh yes, I remember you, your father was a dreadful bore. He didn’t even last a week. Your mother, oh what a shame. She was so beautiful, she could have done well in Heaven if she hadn’t argued with my father. But now you may rest easy Mister Kuryakin, knowing she’s in the real Heaven.”

Her smile made his fists clench at his sides, and his jaw began to ache from clenching it so tightly.

“Let me kill her Illya. Please.”

Gaby had snuck up on him, and she was holding her gun out, aimed perfectly at Victoria’s temple.

Normally, Illya would never have been able to deny her if she’d begged him.

But they still had a mission, and the fact remained, Victoria had to be brought to justice.

Though his heart sang for vengeance, he knew the Rangers would not let her escape.

“No.”

His hand came up to rest on her wrists, and he gently made her lower the weapon.

“Leave her to the rangers.”

Before he’d even finished his sentence there was a shout, and three men came into the room, all uniformed and bearing gleaming badges on their chest, proclaiming them the cavalry.

Victoria’s smug expression melted away and she shrieked,

“What are you doing? Get away from me! Alexander! Alexander help me!”

They forcefully dragged her out of the room, and another Ranger came in to speak with Gaby.

“Alexander Vinciguerra was found down in the basement, gun in his mouth. He is dead. You will want to come and see. Napoleon was down there as well.”

Illya and Gaby had never moved so fast and so as it was as one they ran.

Being helped up the basement steps, with blood streaked down his forehead and face, was the man himself.

“Napoleon!” Gaby gasped, and quickly took one side, taking the burden of his body from one of the rangers.

Illya found his voice,

“Solo, what happened?”

Napoleon looked a bit dazed and nearly drunk with relief to see them.

The blood appeared to be mostly coming from his nose and a small cut above his eyebrow.

Not a serious injury.

But there was a burn mark on his left thigh, and the skin beneath the ripped fabric looked to be almost black.

“I decided that I’m in the wrong business.” He managed to joke.

Illya swooped in and took Napoleon’s arm and threw it around his neck, hoisting him up and moving quickly towards the front door.

“We’re going to ride with Rangers and get you to a doctor.”

Gaby nodded at his other side, and Napoleon smiled rather dreamily at her,

“You’re going to be my doctor?”

She looked on the verge of rolling her eyes at him, but barring the situation, refrained,

“No Solo, I’m not trained to save lives, just to take them.”

Illya glanced at her sharply, but her expression was barely readable, her focus solely on Napoleon.

She was actually worried about him too.

Once outside, the Rangers called forth another member who’d procured the carriage from the Vinciguerra stables, and they helped Illya and Gaby load Napoleon inside.

“Tell Waverly where I’ve gone.”

Gaby snapped at one of them, before climbing up as quickly as a spider monkey.

Illya shrugged at the man who simply stared blank for a moment, and followed Gaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not good with conflict/violence/torture/whatever so the entire thing was a bit short, i know. it was hard enough watching it the first, then second, time around. i don't like hurting my poor bb napoleon


	14. Chapter 14

The next time that Napoleon came back to the world from the edge of darkness, it was with considerably less pain.

Although, he had to wonder just what had become of his leg.

He tried to wiggle his toes.

The sheet covering him shifted.

He let out a relieved sigh.

So they hadn’t had to cut it off or anything barbaric as he’d feared.

As he reached down to palm the goods and then examine the wound he found the crisp papery feel of a bandage wrapped around his thigh.

That was a good sign.

“Having fun?”

Gaby’s voice teased his senses, and he looked around slowly to find her sitting in a chair in the corner, watching him carefully with her dark eyes hidden below a newsboy cap.

“You look very fetching. Are you in a new disguise?”

She didn’t bother to hide the fact she was rolling her eyes at his ridiculous question.

“No this is just one of Illya’s hats I borrowed.”

Napoleon cocked a brow, and then winced at the pain that seared through his temples.

“Where is the blond giant?”

Gaby jerked a thumb towards the door and Napoleon half expected to see the man in question there and simply watching them silently, but it was empty.

He frowned.

“He went to get you a present.”

“Oh? Is it a holiday I forgot about?”

Gaby sighed, and got to her feet, slowly padding over to him, and he realized she was barefoot.

When she climbed gingerly onto the small mattress he was practically molded to, and draped herself over him, he actually lost his train of thought. His arm moved to wrap around her automatically, and his hand found her wrist, gently stroking the skin there.

“I suppose the last few days have been a bit of a blur, but it’s your birthday.”

Napoleon blinked once, twice and then concentrated.

“You’re right. How could I have forgotten?”

Gaby drew a fingertip around his jaw and down his neck, and he knew she was probably mapping the bruises Victoria had left. Judging by the way her pulse sped up it made her a bit angry and if he’d not been in the condition he was, she might have even tried to make some new marks of her own to distract from them.

“You work too hard. You were out almost a whole day. I was worried about you. Illya too. You fell unconscious in his arms.”

Napoleon raised his eyebrows and turned to look at her fully,

“Is that right? What did he do then? Try to bring me back with a kiss?”

Gaby looked as if she was fighting a smile, and only loud footsteps interrupted her from answering. They both looked to find Illya in the doorway, a large bottle of whiskey cradled in his hands.

“You wish Cowboy.”

Napoleon saw he and Gaby exchange a glance, and something inside of him shifted into place.

“You’re a cowboy too you know. Not really a deputy in training any more. You could practically take over for me.”

The hint was pretty obvious.

Gaby shook her head, and petted Napoleon’s white gown covered chest, making goose bumps rise over his bare arms.

“No. We are all taking a vacation. I insist. My treat. Since you’re both broke as church mice.”

Illya was frowning, and Napoleon was about to protest and break the silence about his smuggling savings, but Gaby didn’t let him.

Her finger was pressed to his lips and instead of fighting her, he simply parted them and nibbled on her skin until she was moving closer to replace her hand with her mouth over his.

Illya probably didn’t like watching that but he didn’t leave.

In fact, Napoleon distinctly heard the thunk of the bottle on the side table and then Illya was leaning over to place a kiss on Gaby’s forehead.

“You look very nice in my hat.”

Gaby broke the kiss and Napoleon nearly gasped for air, before adding,

“That’s exactly what I said!”

An eyeroll was Gaby’s only reply.

*

With the blessing of Waverly for a few months leave, Gaby gathered up all her belongings from the Heaven brothel, which was now in the hands of the Rangers, under new designs to be formed into a training center of sorts, after some serious renovation, and she walked out of the room she’d been living in for the last year and a half without a second glance.

Downstairs, the two men who’d managed to swoop in and nearly destroy her escape plan in total were waiting, with Napoleon no longer wearing his dreadfully silly looking sheriff badge, and still leaning on a crutch, and Illya leaning against a slat of the front porch, glowering at a passing tumbleweed with unnecessary ire.

“Are you boys ready?”

They both moved at once, turning fluidly as one to look at her, and she couldn’t resist a smile.

“After you of course.”

Napoleon piped up.

“Can I take your bag?”

Illya asked, ever the gentleman, although Napoleon would have gladly played the part, had he not still been recovering the use of both his legs.

“Thank you.”

The carriage was loaded rather quickly, for Gaby had been the only one with any real amount of luggage.

Their destination was a far west city named Las Vegas, a well known den of sin and debauchery, or as Napoleon called it, ‘His idea of heaven.’

She also suspected he had a few contacts he would be reacquainting himself with once they got settled, and the fact was she could finally try out her gambling skills in an actual casino.

It was an appealing thought.

 

Though the journey took almost a week, the nights under the starry skies leant themselves well to amusement and frequent bouts of healthy competition between the men to steal Gaby’s attention.

Until there was a four poster bed to be had, she refused to try and have them both again at the same time.

Napoleon pouted at the refusal, but he was perfectly content to sit back and observe, until he could fully participate without hurting himself.

The scar above his eyebrow was healing nicely, and actually made him slightly more attractive in Gaby’s opinion, but she’d never tell him. He was far too vain as it was.

Illya finally gave her the understated gift of his virginity, and she was secretly delighted to have been right on that account.

Watching him lose control beneath pale moonlight was absolutely the most breathtaking thing she’d ever seen.

His head fell forward into the crook of her neck and shoulder and he sighed her name against her skin and she realized how much she was in love with him.

But how could she tell him?

It wouldn’t be right.

The next morning, only a day’s ride out from the largest city in Nevada, Napoleon tapped her on the shoulder as she was driving, and moved up to sit beside her.

“So I heard you and Illya last night.”

He began, and Gaby sighed.

Lucky thing was the man in question was napping in the carriage and could more than likely not hear them, but still she felt a twinge of guilt for having left him out.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t,”

“Gaby…”

“What?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing!”

“Tell you what, when we arrive in Vegas, you can get hitched to him if you like. They do that very simply here.”

Gaby looked at him like he was sprouting wings.

“What?”

Napoleon shrugged,

“Isn’t that what two people who love each other do? I mean if I could, I’d probably marry him myself. But I doubt he’d go for that. You’re much prettier.”

Gaby was about to protest that was an utterly inaccurate statement, as they were all uniquely beautiful, but she realized what he’d said.

“You…love Illya?”

Napoleon looked thoughtful, and stared out at the approaching horizon a moment before speaking,

“I think so. I’ve certainly never thought about any man the way I think of him. I mean, when you kiss him, I get jealous. But not for you. It’s more like, I want to be you. _I_ want to be kissing him. You know?”

Gaby was lucky they were driving on a straight part of the road, for her entire body was almost checked out as her mind raced.

She’d been with clients of all sorts, men who were only out to hurt a woman, men who were out to escape a woman in their life, men who couldn’t get what they wanted from their wife, but she wondered if she’d been with a man who couldn’t have another man.

She didn’t think so.

“Perhaps.”

“Anyway. I think you two would be marvelous together. The way he looks at you…makes me tear up just thinking about it.”

She looked over at him and caught him smirking, and she elbowed him in the side.

He was lucky his ribs hadn’t been the target of his torture. They were her favorite spot to hit or tickle him.

“I can’t do that Solo.”

He frowned over at her,

“Why on earth not?”

She smiled sadly,

“Because I don’t love him.”

“Oh?”

“I think I love another man too.”

“Oh.”

She dropped one set of reigns and reached out to gently pat his leg, just above where she knew the bandage started,

“I think I love you, you idiot.”

The smile of complete delight that spread across his face would have been disgusting if she wasn’t suddenly echoing the expression right back.

It felt remarkable to be able to say it aloud.

As if she’d been trying to hold her love inside for too long.

Sure, they’d fucked each other five ways from Sunday, but for the last many months of her life love and fucking had been two extremely different things.

To think that all that time Napoleon had been harboring some sort of crush on Illya and never said a word of it, not even teased it was madness.

“You are an angel aren’t you? You can’t be real.”

He snagged her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, that managed to make those butterflies she’d been getting more and more lately stir to life.

“I don’t know…but I could say the same about you Cowboy.”

Gaby hadn’t noticed, but the carriage had come to a slow stop, and in the process, Illya had climbed out of the carriage and moved to stand at her side.

Finally she was taller than him.

But he only had eyes for Napoleon.

She decided she liked being in the middle of things after all.

“So does that mean I get a kiss after all?”

Illya’s answer was to deftly climb up the side of the carriage and lean over Gaby, grab Napoleon’s head and steal any further smart remarks from him by covering his mouth with his own.

*

“I’m so glad we’ve worked this out.”

Napoleon remarked, once the three had gotten settled in a nicer hotel in the middle of the city.

Illya could be observed looking out at the view from the balcony, while Gaby was methodically unpacking and trying to remain organized.

“You thought we wouldn’t?”

Gaby looked over at him with a quirk to her smile, and he shrugged.

“I wasn’t sure how things would really between…us.”

He waved a hand around, pointing to them all eventually, and Illya tossed in his two cents,

“I’m not sure what the point is.”

Napoleon frowned,

“Wait a minute, Gaby, you never said which one of us you would marry first, then divorce and marry the other?”

The look of horror on Illya’s face told him that he’d probably joked about the wrong thing, but Gaby was quick to step in.

“Ah yes. Well the truth is, I’m not sure who I should marry, but there is a small problem.”

Illya moved away from the balcony and looked ready to sweep her into his arms and try to root out exactly what the problem was, but she was suddenly sprinting for the power room.

Napoleon leaned over from where he was perched on the bed and could only see her bending over the toilet.

“Oh my.”

Illya looked horrified,

“Did you have something spoiled?”

Gaby returned moments later, and looked only a bit pale,

“Nope. I’m fine.”

Illya wasn’t convinced,

“You are nauseous…and we’ve kissed.”

Gaby brought her hand to her mouth to wipe it off, and then she laughed,

“Oh don’t worry. You’re safe.”

Napoleon was starting to make the dots connect.

“It’s not contagious…but you’re sick…”

Gaby sighed, and shrugged, walking over to him and grabbing a hand, lacing their fingers together,

“You see, I’m not sure who I need to marry, because I’m not sure who’s responsible for this.”

Illya glared at Napoleon, and he could see the blond man’s thoughts arriving at the proper conclusion.

“Don’t look at me!”

“You took advantage of her first!”

Gaby dropped his hand like it had burned her and she stepped towards Illya with a look that demanded attention,

“Hold on a minute, ‘took advantage?’ He did no such thing. I seem to recall _you_ were the one who climbed into my room and proceeded to seduce us both into sexual acts that you enjoyed quite greatly.”

Napoleon found himself taking the eye rolling responsibility as they began to bicker.

Eventually he just sat back and watched the show.

Illya looked a bit twitchy and perhaps without the recent revelation, would have tossed her over his shoulder and probably spanked her a little bit for her nonstop and high speed arguments, only half of which he was probably getting the gist of.

When she started swearing at him that was the last straw.

“With child or not, don’t make me put you over my knee.”

Illya brought his hand to her face, and her eyes crossed trying to focus on it before she slapped it out of the way.

“You wouldn’t…not in front of Napoleon.”

He smirked.

“Oh now I’m Napoleon and not ‘Solo’ when you need my help.”

Illya wheeled on him and gave him a look that instantly shut him up and made him feel rather aroused all at once.

“Don’t start with me cowboy.”

The slap that Gaby gave Illya echoed around the room, and brought everything to a standstill.

Napoleon froze, waiting for Illya’s reaction, and Gaby remained resolute, despite being a good foot shorter than the Russian.

To everyone’s surprise, a smile crept over Illya’s face.

The look of warmth bestowed upon Gaby was something of pure beauty.

“That’s my little angel.”

Napoleon blinked, and the next thing he knew, Illya had pulled Gaby into his arms, kissing her fiercely as she jumped up to wrap her legs around his waist.

They danced slightly around the room before eventually finding the bed, and Napoleon merely shifted over to make room for them.

He supposed marriage could wait for the morning.

*

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the end of this glorious story :D


End file.
